


all these people think love's for show

by fromiftowhen



Category: Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Meeting the Parents, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27734803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromiftowhen/pseuds/fromiftowhen
Summary: Jay’s not really sure how heexpectedto meet Hailey’s dad for the first time, but he’s pretty sure a dark, quiet bar ten minutes from her house wouldn’t have been in the plan.It happening by surprise, just as the sun was starting to set on Thanksgiving, at the end of a long shift and several hours of interrogations… Well, that wasn’t in any plan.OR -- Jay meets Hailey's dad, and it's overwhelming for both of them, but they still have a lot to be grateful for.
Relationships: Jay Halstead/Hailey Upton
Comments: 16
Kudos: 182





	all these people think love's for show

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends! I know. I'm sorry. This is STILL not the fic you're looking for. It's coming, I promise. This is a Thanksgiving-inspired angst/love fest that wouldn't leave me alone tonight. 
> 
> I swear, it's happier than the tags might imply. 
> 
> Title from Peace by Taylor Swift. 
> 
> I'm fromiftowhen on Tumblr, let's be friends!

Jay’s not really sure how he _expected_ to meet Hailey’s dad for the first time, but he’s pretty sure a dark, quiet bar ten minutes from her house wouldn’t have been in the plan.

It happening by surprise, just as the sun was starting to set on Thanksgiving, at the end of a long shift and several hours of interrogations… Well, that wasn’t in any plan. 

She’s smiling and laughing one moment, her fingers laced with his as they leave the fading light outside and head into the dark toward barstools in the back, and then he feels her entire body tense just through the places their fingers meet. 

“You good?” He watches the smile slip off her face and the laughter settles in the quiet of the bar, and then she’s pulling her hand from his as a man stands, unsteady, noisily, a few feet away. 

Apparently, she’s _not_ good. He tenses alongside her, always ready for any fight she’ll pull him into. But she just stands still, like she’s completely unsure what to do. 

It’s a weird look on her, and not one he needs to see repeated anytime soon. 

“Hailey Ann,” the man says, stepping forward slowly, and just a few syllables spell it out pretty easy -- he’s drunk, or well on his way to it. Something about his eyes, bright blue even in the dim bar, feels familiar. The real name tells him he’s not an old undercover mark, and Hailey wouldn’t tense so quickly around a CI. 

Hailey glances between them quickly, her face impassive, blank, but Jay can see the spark of surprise still tensing her features. He raises an eyebrow, brushing his fingers along the back of her hand, a silent _I’m here, you’re good, no worries._

“Jay,” she says quietly, catching his fingers on their next pass against her hand, tangling just a couple together loosely. He relaxes slightly. “This is my _dad,_ Robert.” 

He’s no longer remotely relaxed. It’s like he’s been called to attention, and he’s pretty sure he sees the slightest smirk cross Hailey’s lips as he immediately stands taller. 

“Dad,” she says, quietly, and it’s weird. He’s immediately aware he’s seeing a new side of Hailey, a side of her she’s told him about, but one he wasn’t really prepared to ever meet. Or, at least. Not like this. Not without warning. “This is Jay. He’s my--” she pauses, and _yeah,_ she’s overwhelmed.

“Partner,” he cuts in, throwing her a quick, easy smirk as he reaches out his free hand, because it’s not entirely untrue.

Robert’s grip is strong, firm, even though Jay sees telltale signs that he’s less than sober -- glassy eyes, flushed cheeks, slow reflexes as Jay pulls his hand back. 

If her dad even notices that Hailey’s fingers are still nervously toying with his at their sides, he doesn’t let on. 

He motions them over to two empty stools next to him, and Jay watches him ease back down. He glances at Hailey, and he’s prepared to do whatever she needs -- decline, refuse, make up a lie. 

But she just lifts the corner of her lips in a small smile, and he presses his fingers to the small of her back as she takes the stool between him and her dad. 

“You didn’t make it to Thanksgiving dinner,” Robert says, and Jay watches the way Hailey sighs quietly, her shoulders somehow both tensing and drooping at the same time. 

“I told mom I had to work,” she says, like it’s not the first time they’ve had this conversation. He thinks back over the years they’ve worked together -- crime doesn’t recognize holidays, so even though this is the first Thanksgiving he’s spent _with_ her, it’s not the first one they’ve spent together. It’s probably a conversation she’s had with her family on more than one holiday.

The bartender walks by at that point, and he watches Hailey shake her head ever so slightly. They came in for a quick beer, but he knows that’s no longer on the menu. 

“Well,” Robert says, “your mom missed you today.” 

The parental guilt trip. He knows it well, and judging by the way Hailey’s eyes roll, she’s familiar too. His fingers drag over her knee lightly, and normally, he’d keep his hands to himself in the presence of a girlfriend’s father, especially on a first meeting. 

But this is different. It’s just another in a thousand ways he’s learned to tell her she’s not alone, he’s not going anywhere, and he doesn’t want to. 

“Mom had Micah, and Robby and whatever girl Micah decided to bring home this year,” she says, and she’s only mentioned them in passing, sharing dumb brother stories, but there’s a tiny hint of annoyed affection in her voice. 

Robert shrugs, tossing back the bottom of what Jay assumes is whiskey. “She’d prefer you were there,” he says, and Jay presses his fingers harder against the denim at her knee, because he recognizes the quick fire that sets in her eyes. He’s not sure if the touch is a comfort or a deterrent. 

“She’d probably prefer a _lot_ of things,” she says, and it’s bitter, quiet, and all the drinks they’ve shared together in dark bars and quiet kitchens, bitter, angry, _honest_ words falling between them, rush through his mind, but he knows this is a totally new Hailey, one he really doesn’t _know._

“Hailey,” her dad says, and it sounds like a warning. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle, like he’s waiting for the streak of lightning after the crack of thunder. 

But the storm never comes. 

She’s not one to back down from warnings. She charges head first, usually with a determined look and even more determined words. He’s been on the receiving end enough. And she usually wins (she always wins.) 

The fact that she just quiets down now, just glances at him quickly out of the corner of her eye, a silent _you’re here, I’m good, no worries,_ doesn’t really put him at ease. 

“I’ll try to come for Christmas,” is all she says, and Jay watches her dad nod and reach for his wallet, signaling for the bartender. 

“Your mom probably needs help cleaning up,” he says, standing, bracing his hand on the bar, and tossing a few bills down. 

Hailey nods. “Dad--” 

“Hailey,” he says again, and if the first time was a warning, this one’s a threat. He settles his palm on her knee, and he can tell, even without context, that this is a conversation she’s had with her father enough times that they don’t need to even start it. 

It’s quiet for a moment as the bartender makes change down the line, and Jay does the only thing he can think of, what feels honed after years as a brother and a son, a _cop,_ who’s picked up one too many people at bars just like this. 

“Mr. Upton,” he says, and the way Hailey turns to him quickly, the way her fingers brush over his, makes him pause for a moment. “Can I give you a ride home?”

It shouldn’t be a question. If it was _his_ dad, years ago, or Will, or anyone, really, other than Hailey's dad ten minutes after their first meeting, it wouldn’t be a question, and he’d put his body between anyone and the door. 

In any other circumstance, in any world where Hailey’s nails weren’t digging into his wrist, he wouldn’t back down. 

But she just looks at him, and he knows, he _trusts_ her. He knows not to push it. 

Robert shakes his head, like Jay expected. But if Hailey isn’t pushing it, he won’t either. 

“I took the El,” he says, and the annoyed, exasperated tone sounds familiar. Except, on him, it sounds _natural,_ and common, unlike the times Jay’s heard it in Hailey's voice. 

Hailey just nods, shifting on her stool as her dad takes his change from the bartender. He watches her close her eyes as her dad leans in to press a kiss to the top of her head, and that, more than anything, is what makes Jay’s chest ache for her. 

Formality tells him to stand, but Hailey’s fingers are still wrapped around his wrist, and her dad doesn’t look like he’s much in the mood for another handshake, so Jay just watches him amble toward the door before he turns his attention back to Hailey. 

Her eyes are still on the door, and he just turns his wrist, palm up, lacing their fingers together.

“Wanna go?” He whispers, and she just nods, standing. 

By the time they make it out to his truck, her Jeep parked next to it, she looks pretty deflated. It’s a quick drive home, but this is a fight he won’t back down from. 

“Come on,” he says, opening the passenger door and pressing his fingers against her waist, urging her in. “We’ll stop back on the way in tomorrow for yours.” 

She doesn’t put up a fight, and by the time he’s back around to the driver’s side, her head is propped on her hand, her fingers pressing against the bridge of her nose in the way he knows means she’s overwhelmed. 

“Hey,” he says, quietly, but she just reaches her free hand over and presses her palm against his thigh, shaking her head, and he puts the truck in gear. 

——————————

They don’t speak on the drive to her house. 

Her head is spinning, but she’s not sure she’s ever been more grateful for Jay, his quiet, strong demeanor, the easy, sweet way he just _gets_ her basically all the time. 

She hasn’t introduced a boyfriend -- and that’s what he is, despite her inability to get the words out earlier, there’s no acting like he’s not, like this, _he’s,_ not the best thing that’s happened to her all year -- to her parents in years. Even the few she’s been sure about, the one following her into the house quietly now topping the list, she’s kept to herself. 

Because her family… Tonight was a drop in the bucket. A surprising, tense, drop in the bucket she was in no way prepared for. 

And if she’d thought about taking Jay home to meet her mom, letting her cook for him, letting her _mother_ him in a way she knows deep down he misses desperately, introducing him to her brothers, watching him talk football and acting annoyed when they all inevitably ganged up on her… well. In the times she’d let herself go there, on quiet nights waiting for sleep while he breathed deeply beside her, her dad had never entered the picture. 

And it wasn’t like it was all bad, all the time. There are good memories amidst the chaos and fear and anger. She tries to focus on the good when she can, tries not to let the bad keep her from trusting anyone. 

But… sometimes, sometimes it’s all too much, and the holidays are usually a prime example.

So, even on the years she _could_ have gone home for Thanksgiving, she didn’t. 

Walking into that dark bar with Jay, a stupid story about Adam making her laugh, his hand warm in hers, had felt like the best Thanksgiving she’d had in years. Even without the food, and even after hours of chasing down leads on a day any normal person was home gorging on turkey and pie, she’d been _happy_ and safe and so, so grateful. 

Walking into her quiet, warm house now, his presence heavy behind her, she still feels safe and so, so grateful. 

And she knows if she just focuses on that, she’ll be happy again.

On most nights, she’d head for the bar cart, or he’d rifle through her fridge for the beers he insists she keeps on hand for him, but tonight’s not that night, and he knows it too, judging by the way he stops at the island and just… _waits_ for her. 

And she knows, like she knows the sound of his footsteps falling behind her at a crime scene, the weight of his body against hers in the night, even though it’s relatively new -- she _knows_ he’ll wait for her to bring it up. 

Because they still have to push each other from time to time. She’s _never_ going to be the most open person, the easiest to pry information out of. And sometimes, she thinks that’s part of the fun, the challenge, the way he’ll (hopefully) never get tired of her. 

But this is different. This is a touchy subject. One they’ve broached before, but not one to push about. 

“Thanks for coming home,” she says, and the way the word _home_ catches as it falls from her lips, the way he doesn’t even flinch.. It’s something to focus on. “I know you wanted a drink to unwind,” she finishes, leaning against the island next to him. 

“I just wanted to unwind with you,” he says simply, his hand sliding against the countertop to tangle with hers. “I don’t need the drink.” 

She nods. And she knows. But it’s nice to hear.

It’s quiet for a moment, his fingers warm against hers. 

“Is that…” he pauses, and she nods quietly, letting him continue. “Is that the first time that’s happened?”

She scoffs. “My dad, drunk, at a bar on a major holiday?” 

He nods, and it’s unnecessary, but she mimics the motion back at him. 

“No,” she whispers. “It’s kind of his thing. Easter, Christmas, Thanksgiving, apparently. Mother’s Day, most years. First time I’ve accidentally stumbled across it, though.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and she knows, if she wants it to be, those can be the last words they speak about it for as long as she needs. 

But she blows out a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose, because those two words, the fact that he said them at all, is overwhelming. 

“Hey, hey,” he says, and there’s a hint of surprise in his tone, like he wasn’t expecting her reaction. And she wasn’t, either, so she can’t be surprised. 

His arms are warm, strong, _safe_ as they wrap around her, and she presses her face against his shoulder for a long moment, just breathing in and out. 

_You’re here, I’m good, no worries._

_I’m here, you’re good, no worries._

He just runs his hands up and down her waist as she pulls back, and she lets out a quick, overwhelmed laugh. 

“This was _embarrassing_ for me, Jay,” she says, laughing, because she doesn’t know what else to do, and he just shakes his head, pulling her back in, his lips pressing against her forehead. 

“I know,” he says quietly, like maybe he really does. 

“I just--” she starts, pulling back. “I’m not usually unprepared for things. And there was _no_ preparing for that. That wasn’t how I planned on you meeting--” she trails off, biting at her lip. 

“On me, meeting your dad?” He smirks, a tease in his tone, and _god,_ that’s overwhelming in a whole different way. 

She nods. “I don’t know. Maybe I never planned on that part of it. But… that shouldn’t have been your first introduction to my family, no matter how messed up they are.” 

“Hailey,” he sighs, brushing hair out of her face. “Honestly, the fact that you’ve even thought about me meeting your family is the best thing I’ve heard all day. Will’s the only family I’ve got, and he’s an idiot, but he’s a good guy. But I _know_ dad issues, you know I do. I know that isn’t gonna be a happy Thanksgiving memory.” 

She just nods again, because this is a road they could travel down for years and never meet the end of. 

But it’s not how she wants to spend the rest of this holiday, not when he’s here, warm, strong, _safe,_ next to her. Not when she knows he’s not going anywhere, awkward, sad, interactions in dark bars, dad drama, aside. Not when she’s got so many other things to be grateful for this year. 

“That isn’t,” she says. “But this, _you,_ being there, being _here?_ That’s a happy one.” 

He smiles, a quick tug at the corner of his mouth, and she mirrors it back at him. 

“Yeah,” he whispers. She's still smiling as his lips find hers, and they’ve reached the point in this thing where not every kiss is going to lead to something more. Some are just easy, slow, _good,_ because they can be. She doesn’t have to feel the heat to _feel it_ every time. 

“Hey,” she says, as he pulls back. “You were wrong, before.” 

He raises an eyebrow at her, disbelieving. “Seems unlikely, but okay.”

“About WIll,” she says.

“Oh, no,” he insists. “He’s an idiot. I know you like him or whatever, but--” 

She laughs, shaking her head. _“You’re_ an idiot,” she smiles, and one day, maybe, they’ll reach the point in this thing where teasing him won’t be her favorite thing in the world, but she’s not gonna rush it. “Will’s not the only family you’ve got.” 

Her words surprise him, and she watches him try to cover quickly. 

“Yeah, I mean,” she continues, not letting him off the hook easily, “Kevin’s the cousin who’s actually too cool, but still hangs out with you, Kim’s the sister who pretends to hate you but would beat someone up for you, and Adam. Well… Adam would happily jump in front of oncoming traffic for you. I don’t know what family member that makes him, but he’s there too.” 

“Oh, yeah?” He asks, his tone teasing again, and she knew, she _knew,_ if she just focused on him, she’d be good, she’d be happy. 

“Mhmm. And Voight, and Platt, and you know. Me, I guess,” she finishes, brushing her fingertips up his neck, skating over his earlobe quickly. 

_“You,_ you guess,” he says, nodding slowly. 

She shrugs. “I mean, only if you want,” she whispers. 

“Only if I--” he starts, laughing like she’s ridiculous. “God, I’m--” he stops, and something shifts between them as his mouth stops moving. She can feel the tension in the air, but for the first time since they walked in that bar, it’s _good_ tension. 

She swallows. “You’re what? Thankful? Grateful? Today’s the day to share what you’re grateful for, you know,” she whispers. 

“I’m in love with you,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like the words are more natural on the tip of his tongue than any others have ever been. She’s pretty sure she stops breathing for a second, because of all things that could have happened today -- _this_ is the most surprising. 

But maybe, she realizes, watching him look at her, expectant, but not demanding, quiet, but not afraid, maybe it shouldn’t be. 

Because it’s the first time he’s said the actual words, but it’s not the first time she’s _heard_ them falling from his lips. 

_I’m going where you go._  
_I’d follow you anywhere._  
_Good or bad, right or wrong._  
_You good?_  
_I want you to stay._  
_Go to dinner with me._  


His hand skims her waist and she smiles, because she’s been quiet too long.

She’s ready. 

To be grateful, to be thankful, today.

To let herself be _in love,_ now, and tomorrow, and as long as he keeps looking at her the way he is right this second. 

LIke he’s waiting on an answer he already knows. Like he needs to hear the words, but won’t rush her. Like he’d walk into hell with her, willingly, and never look back, if she just asked him to. Like she wouldn’t even have to ask. 

Like he’d spend this holiday with her, and the next, and a million more, with a family they chose, or one they didn’t, if it made her happy.

Like he really, _really_ means it. 

And that’s enough. 

She smiles, and she watches his chest expand, a deep breath in and out. Relief. 

“You know,” she says, pressing up on her tiptoes to wind her arms around his neck. His fingers flex at her waist, and she grins against his lips. “I think I knew that.” 

“Hailey,” he groans, and she’ll never get tired of her name on his lips. Never a warning, never a threat, always just _so_ good. 

“Shh,” she whispers, pressing her lips to his quickly. “I’m trying to tell you I’m in love with you, too.” 

His smile is so quick, so overwhelming, she can’t look away. 

It’s something to be grateful for, thankful for. 

It’s something, one of a million things, to love about him. 

He smiles against her lips and lifts her easily. She wraps her legs around him, laughing, grateful, thankful, _loved,_ and his smile is quick, overwhelming, again. 

She can’t look away, so she just closes her eyes, leans in, and lets herself be grateful. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are truly what I'm most grateful for!


End file.
